Chaucer did a nice line in stereotypes: millers, reeves, friars, and so on, the Canterbury Tales are full of them. It's possible that the millers and friars of the middle ages were not thrilled, but at least Chaucer's archetypes, instantly recognisable to his medieval readers, served a literary purpose. Do stereotypes serve any useful function in journalism, or should they, like cliches, be avoided like an infectious disease of the bubonic variety?

It's quite rare for readers to accuse Guardian journalists of stereotyping. In the last 12 months there have been a few objections to a handful of articles, but on closer inspection most don't give cause for concern. For instance, in October last year, a favourable review of a restaurant in London's Chinatown contrasted it with others in the district, which the restaurant critic classified as "grubby, malevolent food factories" staffed by, "the rudest waiters and waitresses known to humanity". That generalisation about restaurants in a famous area of London may have offended restaurateurs, but I'm not convinced that the (four) readers who complained were right to accuse the journalist of stereotyping Chinese people.

A description of Irish footballer Andy Reid in a sports column this month led to another accusation of stereotyping: "The former Spurs midfielder has the dishevelled roly-poly looks of someone who might knock on your door one afternoon and announce that he has some leftover tarmac from a job down the road and do you want your driveway doing?" the author wrote. "Why not mention he's a leprechaun and he'll give people lucky charms?" said a reader (the only one to complain) who thought the description was "immensely stereotypical" and added: "Andy Reid doesn't look any different from the next man ..."

The fact that Reid looks like someone you might see in your local was precisely the columnist's point. His theme was players whose appearances belie their skills. The description wasn't an oblique reference to the Irish navvy stereotype, it was about talented players with bloke-next-door physiques. As the columnist put it in the piece: "They lend credence to the concept of The Natural. The belief in a sporting gift so wondrous it requires no coaching."

The column mentioned half a dozen other footballers in this category, including Liverpudlian Mick Quinn, the former Newcastle centre-forward. "Quinn wasn't fast, but he could cover two yards before you could say 'tubby'," the author wrote. "Most of the time though he barely raised himself above a saunter, calling to mind a plumber who'd been sent to buy supplies during his lunch break." If Quinn were Polish, that joke may not have passed without comment either.

The archetypal Polish plumber cropped up in the headline to an article, last September, about an advertising campaign to lure young Polish people back home. "Poland starts campaign to bring back plumbers" it read. A reader complained that it was an outdated and inappropriate stereotype. Its appearance in the headline certainly seems gratuitous because the article talks about the shortage of doctors, carers and engineers, but makes no mention of plumbers.

More recently a light-hearted piece on the Guardian's music site resulted in angry emails from three readers. It said that Sebastien Tellier, the French singer-songwriter, had succumbed to pressure to change lyrics in his song for the Eurovision contest from English into French. "Tellier, in true French fashion, appears to have surrendered," the author joked. This was "outrageous" said a reader, who complained about stereotyping and the author's disregard for French people who died in the second world war.

The author says he did not intend his quip to be taken seriously. "The tone of these articles is very, very light," he told me. "I cannot imagine seriously disparaging France or the French - let alone the bravery of French soldiers - and I regret some readers interpreted it in that way."

Like cliches, stereotypes are familiar and overused - reason enough to delete them from any draft article - but stereotypes are cliches with a kick because they have the ability to offend, insult and alienate. They're an invitation to agree with limiting, questionable, generalisations and fixed ideas - writers shouldn't be surprised when readers decline.